Merry Medieval Christmas

by Elizabeth Rose et al.

  Circumstances had thrown them together and now she was Marie’s only source of comfort. She had failed the girl, yet her feet seemed fixed to the planked floor. She’d never had a sister, older or younger.

  The sobbing turned to a mournful wail. “Mama.”

  A memory tore at Victorine’s heart. She had cried out her dead mother’s name into the silence of her dark chamber, but the echo had offered no comfort. Her brothers had been forbidden to exhibit sorrow at their mother’s passing.

  She fell to her knees beside the pallet and gathered the child into her arms, finding unexpected comfort in their shared grief.

  Only Jumelle heard the knock and opened the door.

  Victorine turned to see Dervenn de Roure on the threshold. For once she was relieved to see him. She wasn’t having much success calming the child’s upset and he seemed to have a way with her. His smile turned to a frown when he espied Marie. He strode into the chamber, picked her up and rocked her in his arms. He said nothing, but the little girl gradually calmed.

  Victorine got to her feet with Jumelle’s help, her indignation at his brusque actions nudged aside by relief that he’d soothed the orphan’s sorrow. The errant thought occurred that he would be a good father. Her own sire had never hugged away her hurts. As she gazed at Dervenn’s broad back, an irrational desire to find comfort in his strong arms flooded her.

  When he turned to face her, his smile took her breath away. It lent a rugged beauty to his chiseled features. Her shoulders sagged; her mouth fell open.

  He frowned. “What’s amiss?”

  She gritted her teeth, ashamed that she was beginning to have feelings for this crude knight. “Nought.”

  “Bon! Jumelle, gather up your mistress’s belongings. I have procured a chamber for these beautiful ladies.”

  Marie giggled and hugged his neck.

  Victorine’s gratitude almost caused her to rush to his side and do the same; but decorum prevailed. “Do as he says, Jumelle,” she ordered. “Hurry.”

  Dervenn chuckled as he set Marie on her feet. “You’re welcome.”

  The child held his hand as he led them along innumerable dingy corridors. The two chattered with a familiar ease that made Victorine envious, but she was pleasantly surprised when he thrust open the door to a chamber. Though it was windowless, it smelled fresh, and the bed was certainly large enough for her to share with Marie. A servant’s pallet lay near the hearty fire burning in the hearth. “This will be adequate,” she conceded.

  He made a mock bow. “I’m glad your ladyship approves. Now I must be off to secure my own lodgings.” He perched Marie on the edge of the bed, and pecked a kiss on her cheek. “Until the morrow, my fair lady.”

  She kissed him back, watched as he strode to the door and sighed wistfully when he left.

  Victorine growled with annoyance when she realized Marie and Jumelle were both gazing at the door. “Unpacking,” she reminded the maid.

  The child curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. The unsettling events of the day were suddenly too overwhelming. Exhaustion swept over Victorine. “Work quietly,” she said with a yawn.

  She climbed onto the bed and buried her nose in the bolster. An aroma tickled her nostrils that reminded her of Dervenn de Roure. He had evidently given up his own chamber. She should insist the linens be changed, but the lingering scent of him was strangely familiar and comforting.

  GALA

  Dervenn escorted them to the king’s feast on the last day of December.

  The child complimented his black tunic, which Victorine had to grudgingly admit made him look dashing. Marie held his hand and skipped along, until they came to the immense hall of Westminster Palace. Suddenly, she cowered against his leg, clearly intimidated. Unseen musicians played. Servants rushed here and there. The excited voices of hundreds of noblemen and women echoed off the stone walls.

  Dervenn stooped to pick the child up.

  Victorine understood the impulse to flee. Her best gown brought from home felt like peasant garb compared to the stunning elegance of the clothing worn by the women. Indeed the girls who’d accompanied her from Normandie stood out as being underdressed for the occasion. Some smiled and looked content with their new husbands-to-be, others pouted and cast furtive glances here and there as if searching for an avenue of escape.

  The de Toeni family was rich. Victorine’s father was proud of his wealth and took every opportunity to display it. He provided his children with clothing fashioned from the costliest materials. His sons rode the finest horses and wielded swords forged of the strongest steel. Visitors to their castle were regaled with sumptuous feasts and lodged in splendidly furnished chambers.

  Victorine was no stranger to opulent extravagance, but she gaped in disbelief at the amount and variety of food laid out for the king’s guests, many of whom walked away from the groaning sideboards with trenchers piled high. She recognised the aroma of venison, and certainly there was roasted chicken, and goose, but other dishes were a mystery. “So much food,” she whispered.

  Dervenn set Marie on her feet. “This mob will make short work of it. You’d think they hadn’t eaten for days. Watch over the child and I’ll charge our trenchers.”

  He strode off and elbowed his way into the crowd of men swarming around the tables au bufet. One or two protested his intrusion—until they saw his face.

  Marie slipped a hand in hers. “I hope there are oysters.”

  Victorine admitted inwardly she would like to taste the sea creatures again, but she shrugged as if not caring. “Sir Dervenn said they are a delicacy, so they probably disappeared first.”

  She scanned the hall. Men, women and children sat at tables eating and drinking. She supposed these were families. Other men wandered about, almost all carrying a goblet from which they sipped as they meandered. Small winged creatures fluttered in her belly. These must be bachelors. Mayhap among them…

  Occasionally they stopped and exchanged hearty conversation with a group, then moved on to another. The din grew louder by the minute, the hall hotter. The braziers glowing around the perimeter seemed unnecessary.

  Banquets at home had always been sedentary affairs, with servants bringing food. This was a different experience and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Standing alone with Marie in the midst of the chaotic hubbub made her feel conspicuous. She fidgeted with her hair, willing Dervenn to return.

  One fellow sauntered up to them and raised his goblet. “To you, beautiful maiden, health and prosperity.”

  She was at a loss as to how to respond. Her father had never allowed young men to speak to her directly. Indeed, this man’s gaudy yellow tunic and overlong hair would have excluded him from being invited to the de Toeni castle.

  He raised a brow. “Cat got your tongue?”

  She gathered up her courage. This was a new land with new ways of doing things. Her father was dead, and the young man was quite handsome. She needed a husband.

  She was about to reply when Dervenn shouldered him aside. “Be gone, Fortescue.”

  The young man glared as wine sloshed over the side of his goblet and onto the front of the hideous yellow garment. “Take care, de Roure.”

  She was afraid an altercation might erupt but Fortescue glowered at Dervenn before slinking away.

  “Bravo,” Marie declared, clapping her hands.

  Victorine was relieved to see the back of the dandy, but if Dervenn interfered in every conversation, she’d never have a chance to meet eligible young men at the party.

  He held up two trenchers laden with food. “You’re welcome. Now to find a place to eat.”

  She pursed her lips and followed him to the tables, unsure whether to return the admiring smiles that came her way. It was an undeniable truth she was ill-prepared to relate to men, but their attention was flattering.

  All the seats at the trestle tables were full. Dervenn glowered at a group of four men who had obviously finished eating and they immediately surrendered their places on the
bench.

  Perhaps there were advantages to having him as an escort.

  He bade them sit and placed one trencher in front of Victorine. “The other is for me and you, demoiselle Marie, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  She preened and tried to return the wink he sent her way.

  Victorine laughed at the child’s comical expression, then felt her face heat when Dervenn stared at her. “You’re beautiful when you smile, Lady de Toeni.”

  ~~~

  Dervenn’s concern for Victorine grew. She was too naive, too beautiful to be left at the mercy of the jackals in attendance at the gala.

  Dressed in a simple yet exquisite gown she was a beacon of elegance and good taste among earls and barons and their ladies who’d obviously spent vast sums on ostentatious clothing—money pillaged from confiscated Saxon estates.

  William had sworn to bring good government to England and Dervenn was resolved to do his best to hold him to that promise. The merciless persecution of the defeated Saxons churned his gut.

  Across the table from him, Victorine poked at her food.

  “Are you not hungry?”

  “Marie may need a guard, but I don’t,” she pouted. “I’m perfectly capable…”

  “Fortescue is married,” he interrupted.

  She gaped.

  He chewed and swallowed a chunk of venison, enjoying the flush that reddened her cheeks and probably spread to her breasts judging by the way her nipples pouted against the fabric of her gown. However, such thoughts led to physical reactions he’d prefer remained caged. “But that wouldn’t deter him.”

  “Deter him from what?” Marie asked with her mouth full.

  He arched his brows and stared back at Victorine’s irritated gaze. “Nothing, ma petite. Eat.”

  Marie chattered on as they ate. Watching Victorine’s furtive glances around the hall it occurred to him that one way to protect her from her own naiveté was to introduce her to worthy men. She didn’t have the experience to separate the wheat from the chaff, but he did. He knew more about some of the scoundrels present than they might acknowledge about themselves. The cowards, the rapists, the thieves, the sadists; they were here, but so too were upright, honorable men who might provide Victorine with security and fidelity.

  The venison suddenly stuck in his throat.

  ~~~

  Victorine worried Dervenn was having trouble swallowing something he’d eaten, but he recovered quickly as he stood and announced his intention to introduce her to one or two knights of good repute.

  She was surprised, but grateful, confident he would never put her at the mercy of unscrupulous men.

  Marie yawned. “I’m tired.”

  Victorine’s hopes sank. If Dervenn decided to take Marie to the chamber, she would have to follow. He would never let her stay at the gala without his protection, not that she would want to after what she’d learned about Fortescue.

  Dervenn picked up Marie. “We cannot return to your chamber just yet. Rest your head on my shoulder and we’ll help Victorine socialize for a little while.”

  She nodded and obeyed, curling into his neck, sucking her thumb. It occurred to Victorine that many battle hardened warriors would resent having to escort two orphans to a grand celebration. Dervenn, however, seemed content to carry a tired little girl. It was a pity he had no children of his own.

  He put a reassuring hand on her elbow and guided her towards a group of four young knights. “You’ll be safe with these men,” he whispered.

  Alarm bells went off in her head. It became difficult to breathe. Surely he wasn’t going to leave her alone with them?

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Relieved as she was, it was bothersome that she’d become so dependent on him.

  “Messeigneurs,” he declared, “may I introduce Lady Victorine de Toeni.”

  The tallest of the four bowed and took her hand. “Condolences on the loss of your brothers,” he said softly. “We were proud to call them friends.” He brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “I am Adrian de Caulmont.”

  One by one the others followed his lead.

  “Baptiste d’Ambray.”

  “Constant du Buisson.”

  “Georges de Croismare.”

  Impeccable manners had been drilled into Victorine by her father, but suddenly she couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say in reply. She’d never been surrounded by so many handsome young men.

  They eyed her curiously, which wasn’t surprising given that her face was on fire. They must think her a tongue-tied idiot. What had happened to the de Toeni poise bred into her from birth?

  Dervenn scowled, shifting his weight and repositioning his burden. She supposed he was getting impatient with carrying the child, but then Marie suddenly offered her hand. “Lady Marie de Monluc,” she announced haughtily.

  Dervenn smiled broadly.

  To their credit, the knights didn’t mock the child. Each kissed her hand in turn, bowing politely as they introduced themselves once more.

  It gave Victorine time to recover her wits. “I thank you for your kind words about my brothers. I’m afraid I didn’t know any of their friends in the army.”

  “Brave men,” Constant said hoarsely.

  “Indeed,” the others echoed.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice that they’d said nothing about her father, but there was no point belaboring that omission. “Marie too lost all her family at Hastings.”

  The four mumbled their condolences, glancing wistfully into the goblets they held. They’d come to celebrate, to forget the horror of battle and she had reminded them of it. She made an effort to lighten the mood. “Marie and I are the only two of the king’s wards not yet betrothed.”

  Dervenn may have groaned.

  De Croismare excused himself abruptly and hurried away.

  De Caulmont frowned. “Surely Demoiselle Marie, you are too young to be betrothed.”

  “You’re correct,” the child announced, twirling a finger in the fastenings of Dervenn’s tunic. “Victorine is the one looking for a husband.”

  MISTLETOE

  Dervenn deemed it time to take Marie back to her chamber. He admired her spunky nature and the resilience of a child who’d lost everyone dear to her, but it was evident she was over-excited.

  The remaining three knights scanned the hall, seemingly searching for an escape route.

  Red-faced, Victorine glared at him, as if Marie’s remark was his fault, but he didn’t want to jeopardise her recent softening towards the child. The young orphan would need female guidance in the months and years to come.

  Still, what became of his charges in the future wasn’t his concern. Better to have done with the escapade. He had no intention of playing matchmaker for either of them. Let the king find a husband for Victorine. He didn’t want to marry, though if he was to take a wife…

  Such thoughts were folly. “Time for us to bid these gentlemen goodnight,” he declared.

  Marie patted his cheeks. “Can’t we stay a little longer?” she cajoled.

  It was tempting to give in, but he resolved to be firm. “Non, mignonne.”

  To his surprise, Adrian de Caulmont spoke up. “Perhaps demoiselle de Toeni can stay with us while you take the girl to her chamber.”

  Victorine’s chin quivered.

  Dervenn prided himself on his ability to discern what was in a person’s mind, but Victorine had his instincts muddled. Did she want to stay or was she relieved they were leaving?

  It would take but a few minutes to deliver Marie into Jumelle’s capable hands. However, there was a little too much lust in de Caulmont’s eyes, and he’d never hear the end of it from the king if he left her with three young knights and something untoward happened. He knew them as honorable men, but she was a naive innocent.

  A chill raced over his nape at the all too real possibility of Victorine being violated in the dark halls of Westminster.

  He gritted his teeth. “If you are
of a mind to see either of these ladies again, you must seek the king’s permission since he is their guardian,” he declared.

  Visibly relieved, they bowed politely and took their leave.

  Victorine watched them go. For the first time he detected on her pale face signs of the raw loneliness she usually kept carefully hidden. If ever a woman needed a strong, loving husband…

  Dervenn doubted he would have been deemed worthy by her late father. Yet she drew him.

  He proffered his arm. “It’s late, and you’re tired.”

  Still pouting, she accepted his offer of escort.

  It became difficult to make headway as they approached the entry. The crush of merrymakers trying to exit the hall had slowed. Some clung to goblets, laughing when spills occurred.

  He was concerned they might become separated among the largely inebriated crowd. Marie was getting heavier by the second. “Keep a firm hold on my arm,” he advised Victorine as folk jostled each other.

  She pressed closer to him without hesitation, looking about nervously. His body reacted predictably when she crushed her breasts against his bicep. Marie squirmed in his arms, trying to see what was happening at the exit.

  “What’s the delay?” he asked another knight.

  The fellow hiccuped. “The kissing bough.”

  Victorine frowned. “What?”

  Their neighbor warmed to the subject, eyeing her with sudden interest. “It’s a Celtic tradition the king has taken a fancy to. When a knight and a lady pass beneath the bough made of mistletoe they must kiss.”

  Marie swiped her wrist across her mouth. “Kiss! Ugh! I never heard of mistletoe.”

  “It’s a plant with white berries,” the knight replied, pursing his wine-reddened lips. “Mayhap I’ll kiss this lovely maiden.”

  Dervenn’s hackles rose. “Mayhap I’ll be obliged to kill you in that event,” he said softly.

  The fool backed off. “No need to take offence.”